This quilt we shared
has become heavy with sadness,
damp with tears since your passing.

Rips and tears, unrepaired,
are now gaping holes
of stark loneliness, each one
a wouund, a near-death
of the soul.

This quilt, once a shelter
from world’s cruelty,
now bleeds grief
into every night.

Where is the magic needle,
To sew up the gaps ?
Where is the thread of kindness,
the stitches that heal the heart ?


I huddle and shiver beneath
this thin reminder of past joy,
a gift of love given, then
suddenly snatched away.